


The Desk

by wombuttress



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:44:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wombuttress/pseuds/wombuttress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden Alistair comes home to his Commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Desk

The Warden-Commander had been a working-class girl with little taste for the trappings of nobility, and so, a few months into her tenure, she had the throne in her throne room blasted away from the wall and removed. In its place, she had a great oaken desk dragged in.

It was a nice desk. A rich dark brown, polished to a sleek shine. It had a little triangular plaque at the front, bearing her name— _Warden-Commander Tabris,_ all shiny and bright, oh, she did so love that plaque. It contained several bottles of ink, a candle for the purposes of dribbling wax to be sealed with her signet ring, and an endless stream of paperwork.

Warden-Commander Tabris loved paperwork, for two reasons. First—the fact that she could do paperwork at all meant she could read what it said and write something in response, and consequently, after months of grueling lessons with the Seneschal, that she had won that particular battle. Second—if the Hero of Ferelden, the Commander of the Grey, only living slayer of an archdemon, could afford to sit around at her desk and do boring paperwork, it meant that things were calm. Things were calm, and everyone was safe, and nobody was in such immediate danger of dying that she had to be there to prevent it.

In peace, vigil. This was the part of the job that Tabris liked best.

In fact, Tabris liked nearly everything about her job. People respected her. People did what she said. People automatically deferred to her for important decisions. For a girl who’d grown up being spat on, learning to steal and strike from the shadows in order to survive, this sort of treatment was nothing short of intoxicating.

Not that she abused her power, by any means! It was simply her humble opinion that she was the smartest most talented person in any given room and obviously the best suited person for leadership, and, frankly, for anything important.

What she didn’t like about her job was the distinct lack of her husband. Sure, they were both Wardens, devoted to the greater good, to the protection of Thedas from darkspawn. In peace, vigil, and all that. And, given that following the Blight, there were exactly Two (2) Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, and there were exactly Two (2) important Warden Jobs to be done at the time, it made perfect sense for them to split up. Tabris would go to Vigil’s Keep and be Warden-Commander, and Alistair would neatly swerve around responsibility and go clean up the straggler darkspawn that still remained in the countryside.

It made perfect sense. Tabris, who was, of course, very sensible, saw this—and was under no obligation whatsoever to like it.

So for the first months of her tenure as Commander of the Grey, she glumly contented herself with letters. When the first one had arrived from him, she had stared helplessly at it, recognizing his seal but not anything else—and then shuffled furtively over to the Seneschal and asked him to first, read her the letter, second, help her compose a reply, and third, teach her how to actually read and write because it was suddenly occurring to her that she couldn’t really be a national military commander while illiterate.

Or, well, she could, but it would be a lot harder to fake than during the Blight, when she could casually just ask Leliana to read her things because she “had the best reading voice”.

But learning had definitely been worth it. She’d spent every night out on the road composing short letters to Alistair about her day. _Dear Alistair, today I stole an apostate from the Templars. Another assassin tried to kill me, so I did to him what I did to the last one. Also, the darkspawn are talking now. All in all, average day._

_Darling Alistair, today I went on a nature hike and ended up kidnapped, but I did make a new elf friend. I told her about you and she disapproved, but I’m sure she’ll come around._

_Beloved Alistair, today I adopted a stray Fade spirit. He is very polite and has Opinions. He’s a corpse right now, but I’m sure we’ll get him something nicer to possess soon._

_Adored Alistair, today I found a blade called the Rose’s Thorn and thought of you. Oghren says hello. He actually says quite a lot of things other than hello but I won’t repeat them, mostly because I don’t know how to spell them._

_Cherished Alistair, today I heroically saved a city, slew a talking broodmother, and struck another shady pact with an unholy abomination. We’ll discuss it later. Love you._

_Yours, Tabris._

Apparently Alistair was having a much less exciting time on his mission. His missives were mostly complaints about all the different places you could get darkspawn muck stuck in your armor, a topic they had already discussed intensely during the Blight. Still, she treasured his letters, and the dried rose petals he sometimes put in the envelopes. The entire stack of letters were safely locked in her beloved desk.

It was at this desk she sat when Alistair finally walked in through the great double doors.

She’d been writing a letter to Lord Guy—no, really—the quill scratching steadily against the parchment when an attendant tapped her on the shoulder and informed her of the new arrival. She’d hardly heard him, grunting and continuing her work. It was but moments later when she finally looked up and saw him standing there.

There he was, all in blue and silverite—a little battered and dusty from the road, with a dented breastplate, but whole and here with her again. He was grinning lopsidedly, amazed and slightly stunned to see her again in the flesh, shoulders slumped in relief. She was really here, really real.

Tabris put the quill back into the inkwell and folded her hands on the desk. “Well?” she said coolly. “Do you have an appointment?”

Alistair stopped mid-step, blinking. “An appointment?”

Tabris tapped her triangular plaque. “An appointment. I’m a Commander, you see, and very busy. I can hardly afford the time to see anyone willy-nilly. If you don’t have an appointment, you’ll have to speak to the Seneschal and schedule one.” She sniffed.

“I’m afraid I haven’t got an appointment,” Alistair said. “But my business with the Commander is _terribly_ urgent and it simply cannot wait.”

“Oh?” Tabris said archly, rising and stepping out from behind the desk. She tilted her head to the side and clasped her hands behind her back. “And what might that business be?”

“There’s no time to explain,” he said. “I’ll just have to get right to it.”

He closed the distance between them, leaning down to wrap his arms around her and kiss her through his smile. For several moments, they were so deeply engaged that it wasn’t until he finally drew away that he processed the whoops and shouts coming from the side of the room. He turned his head to see a cheerily waving Oghren exchanging a high-five with a blonde mage as they both shouted ribald suggestions.

“I, uh,” he stammered, “didn’t notice the audience.”

“I did,” Tabris said. “This was totally on purpose.”

He grinned. “Oh you.” He leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. “That’s a very nice desk you have. Is that oak?”

“Mhm. Wanna have sex on it later?”

“Oh, _yes.”_

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://gayspacejew.tumblr.com/)   
>  [my oc blog](http://piile-of-dragon-filth.tumblr.com/)


End file.
